“I hate rain,” Gnash said.
“Yeah, me too,” Yarl agreed. “I hate everything right ahout now.”
It had been raining forever. For as far back as they could remember, it had been raining.
The two brothers wore chain armor over leather jerkins, and carried kite shields. The clothes they wore under their armor were soaked through, and their boots-what was left of them-squished as they plodded through the mud. The rain fell in a steady downpour that was neither light nor heavy. The ground in the pine forest was soaked.
“Wait!” Yarl stopped, sniffed the air. “You smell that? I smell somethin’ good”
“I just smell you, and it ain’t good.” Gnash answered flatly.
Yarl thumped his brother on the arm. “No, I mean it. It smells like food. I can’t remember the last time we had a good meal.”
“You always think of food. Damn it, Yarl, we’re deserters. If they catch us, they’ll hang us. On top of that, we don’t know where in the Abyss we are. We’ve been walkin’ in circles”-he pointed to a rock formation that they had passed at least six times-”and all you’re worried about is your empty belly! What if there are Solam-nics around?” He glanced about nervously.
Yarl scowled. “I know exactly where we are. We’ve only got to go another fifty miles or so until we reach a port, and from there we can catch a ship that’ll take us anywhere we feel like, so shut your goddamn mouth! As for that boulder, it’s not the same boulder.”
“Is too,” Gnash muttered, but he was too cold and hungry to fight about it. “I do smell somethin’ though. It smells really good. Take a whiff.”
“By the Vision, you’re right, Yarl!” Gnash sniffed the air like a hungry dog. The smell was faint, but suggested warm bread.
“Kinda like a home smell, ain’t it, Gnash?” said his brother.
The brothers sniggered.
“Ma could sure bake bread.” Yarl sounded wistful.
“Now don’t get started,” Gnash, the elder, said severely. “Sure we got some bread, but we had to eat it buttered with all that religious hokum. Paladine this and Mishakal that and ‘Remember to say your prayers, boys,’ and ‘You know it looks bad for the sons of clerics to be wastin’ time, hangin’ out in taverns.’ Well, Pal-adine’s gone, and good riddance, I say.”
“That big red dragon we sold ‘em to sure did make short work of them,” said Yarl, cheering up at the memory. “Chomp, chomp. Didn’t even bother to cook ‘em first, like I thought she might.”
“Don’t talk about red dragons, neither,” Gnash said nervously. “If she or the Dark Knights finds out we deserted, she’ll go chomp, chomp on us!”
“Bah! She won’t find out,” said Yarl confidently. “As for the Knights, they were getting whupped so bad when we lit out we don’t have to worry about them no more. I think the smell’s coming from that direction. Someone’s cooking us dinner, brother.”
“I think you’re right,” said Gnash. He grinned. “Only they don’t know it yet.”
Yarl patted the broad saber hanging at his side. “Ain’t no one gonna mess with us! We’re sergeants from the army of the Knights of Takhisis!”
“Gentle, brother!” warned Gnash. “First let’s poke around.”
The two moved forward at a lope, heading toward the smell that grew stronger and more tantalizing the nearer they came. The rain grew heavier. The water poured down the center spine of Gnash’s helmet, down the nose guard, then dripped off the tip of his nose. The fall storms would only get worse, then eventually turn to snow, Gnash thought, hoping they reached some seaport long before that happened. At least in this downpour, no one would hear them coming. And he couldn’t get much wetter than he already was.
The pine forest ended abruptly. The brothers looked out of the woods to see a clearing of tall grass that drooped in the rain. A huge pile of freshly turned dirt rose up out of the grass.
Yarl gripped his saber. Gnash looked at his brother, shook his head, and proceeded stealthily.
“What is all that dirt?” Yarl asked in a low tone.
“I think it’s a grave-one of those big ones where they dump a lot of bodies after a battle. Damn it, Yarl,” Gnash swore, “do you know what this means? This means we’re still somewhere close to the war! Too damned close.” He felt for his saber. The grip was wet, but he wanted it close if a fight erupted.
“Yeah,” said Yarl, and after a moment’s consideration he added, “but if they’re digging graves, then the battle must be over.”
“I guess you got a point,” he admitted, admiring his brother’s sound logic. “But just be careful. We don’t know who’s diggin’ the graves!”
He crouched low and crept forward. Yarl stayed right at his side. Creeping past the mound, they stopped at the far end. A stone marker stood at the head of it.
Gnash nodded to his brother. “Go see what it says.”
“You want me to walk close to a grave?” Yarl asked, horrified. “What if somethin’ grabs me?”
“How old are you? Ten? Nothin’s going to grab you,” said Gnash, disgusted. “Now go on.”
Yarl did as he was told. Gnash was the older brother by a year and Yarl always did what his brother told him to do. Yarl cautiously approached the stone marker, sinking in the fresh mud with every step.
“Says THREE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN SOLAMNIC SOLDIERS, FIFTY-ONE SOLAMNIC KNIGHTS, AND TWO QUALINESTI ELVES. BATTLE OF THE SOLACE WATERSHED, CHAOS WAR, YEAR 384 AFTER CATACLYSM. THEY DIED BRAVELY. Stone’s been fresh cut, Gnash.” Yarl glanced about. “That means there must be Solamnics still about.”
“Solamnic grave-diggers,” said Gnash, relaxing. “They won’t have swords, just shovels.”
The clearing ended another fifty yards ahead as it led into a forest of poplar and oak and scrub pine. The brothers entered the forest warily, but saw no sign of anyone.
The smell was stronger now-the sweet smell of fresh baked bread with something else, cinnamon or nutmeg, Gnash wasn’t sure. Both were so hungry they wouldn’t have much cared if the whole Solamnic army had been up there waiting for them, so long as they were fed.
The trees stopped ahead, with another clearing opening out beyond it. An ancient road, overgrown with grass and weeds, crossed the clearing. The two stopped and stared into the wet landscape. The clearing opened onto several old farm fields, with an old, tumbledown farmhouse at the end. A wagon stood parked beside the ruin of the building. Smoke and the wonderful smell rose from some sort of chimney-like contraption sticking up out of the back end of the wagon. No one was in sight.
“Think we should sneak up?” Yarl asked.
Gnash shook his head. He felt braver now that he was certain there wasn’t an army around. “Naw. We strut in bold as brass. Make friends with ‘em first. Then later, we do what we must. Either way, we’ll eat good tonight, brother!”
“You bet!” said Yarl, grinning.
The two headed across the open expanse, sabers sheathed but at the ready. They might have drawn their weapons, had they seen an enemy, but still there was no one to be seen. Gnash waved his hand toward the right side of the farmhouse. He pointed to left. The two brothers split up and circled the farmhouse, peering inside. No one there. They met up outside the wagon that had to be the strangest looking vehicle they’d ever seen. It was actually closer to a house on wheels. All sorts of pots and kettles dangled from hooks on the sides. The wagon was seemingly meant to carry heavy loads. Several large draft horses grazed nearby, glanced over their at the brothers, and went back to eating. Gnash pointed at the horses.
“No more walking,” he said softly.
“Hey! Wagon!” Yarl shouted boldly.
A canvas curtain hung over the back end parted. A beard poked out. So thick and black was the beard that it took the brothers a moment to realize the beard was attached to a head. Two black beady eyes stared at them, then the head withdrew and another head- this one with a salt and pepper beard and intense brown eyes-poked out. The curtain parted. An elderly man, hale and hearty to judge by his upright bearing and quick step, walked down the stairs that led up to the wagon. Behind the old man came a short, stocky person, the owner of the full black beard.
“That little guy’s a dwarf,” said Gnash, showing off.
